I imagine turning into
a flamingo, likes the ones
on my onesie that I’m dying
to wear.
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ART: ALL IS ONE – Camila Curiel
We are bound to nature, worms and dirt, we come from earth, and to earth we will return.
ONE POEM – Bronwen Wilson
ARTWORK: Our Biggest Fears – Judit Pla Cano
‘I fear that I will never find relief’
ONE POEM – Cai Draper
i was scared to make this poem /
treat them right / they never
came close to meeting in life
COMFORT FOODS // Flour and Oil — Jacey de la Torre
Those are some peoples’ stories, some peoples’ histories, but they aren’t ours.
Disposable – Walker Thomas
“You can call me Mr. S,” my ninth-grade biology teacher told the class on our first day, “for the sssss a snake makes.” Eyes sunken behind wirerimmed glasses, he had a wide mouth with no lips that I recall, and long, stubble-blue cheeks like leather stretched tight to the bone. While he lectured, a red…
ONE POEM – Anna Seidel
We are looking for names,
that a laughing god
could call us by.
Ezra Pound: Prototypical Beat? – Michael Washburn
We today tend to remember Ezra Pound (1885-1972) for the immense density and erudition of his work. Pound’s many preoccupations included Confucius, medieval China, Bertrand de Born, the Provençal period, ancient Egypt, the beauty of the Farsi tongue, and his fellow early twentieth-century modernists. Of course, we also remember many unpleasant things about the man,…
ONE POEM – Iona May
When did writing
become such a warm meeting place?
Spiders in the Drain, and Other American Horrors – Brett Bezio
The wolf spider gestured to me from across the tub, unfurling four legs from behind the metal cover obscuring overflow drain to greet me, naked and alone in a foot of bath water. This memory stands in isolation, as remote memories of a young child often are. The memory itself creeps from a drain, simply…
ONE POEM – Krysia Wazny McClain
Akademicheskaya Metro Station Sixty-four meters underground: vaulted ceilings whiter than eggshells, chrome shinier than any American diner. Pride of Lenin, who, mummified, did not see it open but extolled its nominal achievement by plaque five meters tall. On the escalator, my hand in a grey fingerless glove finds yours. A second couple kiss…
COMFORT FOODS // Koláčky —Carolyn Janecek
I was born in the eye of a koláček––
my jelly center plucked from the trees
in my grandparents’ backyard
COMFORT FOODS // Courgette — Yas Necati
In the Turkish supermarket, you search through baby peaches and it makes me feel closer to you.
Diamonds or Snow – T.S.J. Harling
Image by Alex Avalos, via Unsplash This is the place you go to bury or burn the person you love. – You are in a cinema with friends, or a boyfriend, or your family. No-one is ill, no-one is cross, and you have enough money to waste on a cinema ticket and popcorn and fizzy…
An Ode to Cross-Dressing – Clara Schwarz
I tightly pull back my hair into a slick, low bun, parted far on the right side of my skull. With a several pumps of hairspray, I even out the edges and create a stiff look. I squeeze the top button through its hole and stand up straight as I clip the bow into its…
COMFORT FOODS // Cutlets – V.M. Braganza
Cutlets (also called potato chops), much like my family and their language, resist any attempt at tidy or singular classification.
Pero’s Promise – Tamara Lazaroff
At the village bus stand, with my packed bags, I’m crying my eyes out as I kiss the faces of the row of relatives—Uncle Mitko, Beti, Verka, Tanja, Mirka, even Baba Slobodanka who Branko has carried on his back. Others, too. They’ve all come to say goodbye before I go back home to Australia. And…
One Book: What Would You Save From Being Destroyed for Ever? – Hunter Liguore
If all the books in the world were being burned in a fire and you had the chance to save just one, what book would you save? For some this might be an easy answer; for others, this question might need the utmost consideration—as an avid book reader, with piles of books lining all corners…
COMFORT FOODS // My Mother’s Sweet Halwa — Sheena Hussain
The pots and pans of childhood stir me.
On Appearance: Disordered eating and the body, Kelsey Osgood’s ‘How to Disappear Completely’, and how language makes illness appear to us — Lizzie Hudson
An exploration of the impact of literature about eating disorders on readers. TW: Discussion of eating disorders and self harm.
PHOTOGRAPHY: Circus – David Rodríguez
“There’s a certain sort of artifice in my work and the way I use light and scenes because my lighting creates a kind of dreamscape.”
COMFORT FOODS // While You’re Still Here – Yasmine Jessy Amr
You scribble on a piece of paper, pausing every two minutes to remember. Your memory isn’t what it used to be. But you try anyway.
Email to Hannah – Catherine Madden
Today I woke up slightly ill and with a sense of nostalgia that was only just bearable.
ONE POEM – Ottavia Silvestri
bathroom bucolic a pupil, dollop of toothpaste pink blue yellow cotton balls in the static light a gracious not swarming not fermenting pale May Ottavia Silvestri is a political science student that lives in Milan, Italy. In her free time she studies Mandarin and volunteers in a tiny cat shelter (hi Melinda, you’re my favourite…
